


see heaven flash a horror show

by StrangeHormones



Category: 31 - Fandom, Rob Zombie (Musician)
Genre: Deepthroating, F/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Smut, baby girl - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24179023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones
Summary: doom-head x fem!reader| posers can’t fuck like you do
Relationships: doom-head/reader
Kudos: 7





	see heaven flash a horror show

**Author's Note:**

> 18+| canon typical warnings; mild use of nadsat; deepthroat while driving; rimming (female receiving); fingering; fucking; “baby girl” usage
> 
> youtastelikesugar.tumblr.com

He thinks he’s met them all. Well, at that point he  _ says knows, but _ he doesn’t have any idea that’s about to change. There are the cute ones who think they know what he wants. They never do. The ones who  _ do  _ know what he wants but almost always their eyes ended up being much bigger than their stomachs. The final grouping were the ones who knew what he wanted, could do what he wanted, but had he  _ no _ intention of keeping around. Either they bitched and moaned about some fucking stupid thing or another. Or, which was the most common from this very niche group of women, they were just dogs. Great holes to fuck but nothing he wants to wake up to the next morning if he can help it. 

Then out of nowhere there was you. How  _ fucking _ dare you?

You’re looking for a drink and a place to sleep, the bartender grunts and starts pouring your whiskey, no response to the question about a motel. Just slid the drink in front of you and starting a tab. Which turns your attention to him, cocking your head to the side, as if you could size up exactly what kind of man he was in that instant. He thinks you can’t but it’s always fun to prove someone wrong. Especially someone like him. The thing that’s most striking about him, is that at first there isn’t anything striking about him. Another older man drinking in a shitty bar. His jeans and shirt are fitted but it isn’t hard to see the light stains of soiling that speaks to their real age, hair slicked back in a way that couldn’t be natural but lacks any signs of styling products. It’s about looking deeper, it’s why you straighten your head and take a sip of the amber liquid that burns your throat so right, never stopping your inspection of the man who seems determined to ignore you. 

“You look like the kinda fella who knows a good seedy motel,” you said, taking in the sharpness of his profile now.

Watching the way he tries to stop the corner of his lip from curling into a smirk that must be on his face more than it isn’t. He doesn’t look, doesn’t say anything. Just polishes off his drink and taps the bar with his knuckle. You finish your own drink, sitting on that stole, watching how he manages to remain stock still. If it weren’t for the fact someone had responded to him you might think he was a ghost or some sort of incredibly vivid hallucination. But he isn’t. You remind yourself of that when your own drink is refilled. He’s flesh, blood, and something darker you can’t place. It would be a helluva ride down that crumbling road. 

“Alright, how ‘bout this?” you watch him roll his eyes, taking a long gulp of his own whiskey, “I tell you something about you,” scooting the stool just a bit closer with that unfortunate squealing noise of wood against wood, “I’m wrong, I leave you alone,” there is no hiding the smirk now, it’s a crack, “I’m right, you buy me a drink and tell me a good place to lay myself down,” for some reason you’re determined to wriggle through it.

You’ve caught his attention, which is the easiest battle, eventually any pretty woman catches a guy’s attention. The goal was to hold it. You had no idea why it was important to you, there were a few other patrons scattered around who’d probably answer for free and buy you the rest of your drinks for the night if you smiled just right with your shoulders pulled back at that angle that makes almost any warm-blooded straight man glance just a bit farther downward. None of them vibrate with that kind of darkness that reminds you that it’s impossible to just walk out of a spider’s web. It’s a deal with the devil you’re more than happy to make. How fucking eager you are seems to be what’s causing another thin chip to appear, his grip just a bit too tight around a glass he had suddenly decided not to let go of.

“I bet you’re the kind of guy who can not stop running his mouth when you’re getting a little of the ol’ in and out, am I right?” If ever there was a time to go big or go home, this was it, “Bet it’s all creative and filthy till you’re  _ right there _ ,” holding your forefinger and thumb barely half an inch apart, “Then it’s every word in the English language disappears and you’re just creeching whatever fucked up shit pops into your head,” polishing off your drink and setting it down with a purposefully loud thud, “Cunt drunk.”

Your middle shelf whiskey is about to be refilled when he turns, slamming his hand over its rim and shaking his head at the bartender, nodding to his own drink, and returning to his slightly hunched stance at the bar. He drops the cheap whiskey and grabs something from a shelf behind him, two of those probably cost more than you normally spent on a whole night. It’s the closest a guy like him got chivalry, he could’ve just refilled your drink, but he just had to buy you a better one. And it is, smoother, sweeter, feeling far too much like a metaphor for your particular liking right now. 

“Closest motel is in the next closest town,” because this place couldn’t even be called that, not even a dozen streets and one stoplight, “Call it 80 miles,” you suspect he has more to say, but he’s not coming out with it right now.

He’s got his own game to play. Too busy trying to figure out which box to sort you in because right now it didn’t feel like any. It wasn’t a hard thing to guess, specific enough to still risk being wrong but a wide enough net to be confident, which you sure as hell seemed to be. It was the words, how they sounded as they rolled off your tongue, passing his eardrums and digging right into the base of his brain stem. You’re not asking, you’re telling because you don’t think, you know, and it makes him hard enough to cut glass if he’s being honest. But he isn’t yet, he’s still trying to sort out if it’s reality or fantasy that’s running that potentially-hopefully- grimy mind of yours.

“Fuck,” you sighed, drawing out the word just a bit longer than necessary in the hope of creating some sort of imagery of how else the word could sound from you, “No time to filly then,” moving to chug down the fancy liquor.

Long fingers wrapped tight around your wrist stop the motion, you bite your lip and attempt not to smile or moan- you’re not quite sure at this point, “That’s a  _ strong _ drink, little girl,” finally turning completely towards you, “Best you sip on it,” releasing you far too soon but no longer facing away.

You do, taking a small swig and setting it on the splintering wood of the bar once more. He slides a half-smoked cigar in his mouth, puffing it to life, gesturing to your glass when he popped it from his mouth. The smile isn’t innocent but it escapes, all the same, a crack in your own carefully constructed mask. He’s trying to figure out what you are because he hasn’t been able to sort out who you are. You give it till he finishes that cigar before he decides he’s going to fuck you for one reason or another. It won’t be you dragging him out the door. There’s always the risk you’ll end up sleeping in the car or just driving the 80 miles but this is far too much fun. You swallow the feeling there’s a reason you ended up here because destiny is a stripper’s name. This had to be close enough, right?

“That sounds an awful lot like you not buying me another one,” you say, lining up with the veil you’re still wearing.

His face somehow manages salaciousness without even trying, it should be a crime but you’re positive it wouldn’t be the worst one he’s committed, “We’ll see,” it’s meant to lure you in.

It’s more fun than you’ve had in a while playing who will speak first. Until both glasses are empty, and he’s stubbing the ember into the sticky bar with a sizzle. The sudden intruder into the moment looks at him, you’re no longer part of this equation and you know it, his toothy grin makes all sorts of promises you know he has every intention of keeping. But that expensive amber liquid fills your glass once again, that one will come with a price all its own. You’re more than a little excited about it.

“Where you running off to?” he’s leaning ever so closer, you don’t know if it’s the alcohol suddenly rushing your system that makes you warm, his slowly inching presence or some combination of both but it has his desired effect.

You wet your mouth with another sip, spin ever so slightly on the stool, “Nowhere,” knee just lightly brushing hist high before your foot braced itself on the ground, “That’s the place to get to. Escaping somewhere to find my own nowhere or some shit like that,” even sober you wouldn’t have remembered it exactly or even where you heard it, just the sudden realization that you had remembered it for a moment precisely like this one.

“This jerkwater strip of road is about as close to nowhere as you’re  _ ever  _ gonna find, little lady,” you’ve been promoted, but only  _ just, “ _ Where’s a girl like you go after nowhere?”

“And what kind of girl am I?” it’s low hanging fruit but it lets you think.

He laughs, it’s a dark sound that sends the best kind of shivers through your body that you know he doesn’t miss, “The kind of girl who’ll make a bet about when we fuck because we both know there’s ain’t no if happening here,” it follows to close after the shiver, your nipples stiffen just a little but it’s the first time you’ve ever been thankful you’re wearing a bra.

Can’t give him too much leverage, “Never had anyone win a bet while making it,” swallowing the last of the firegold and feeling it go straight to your head. 

You feel loose, not gone, just revealed. That last sip taking off your mask because there was no use for it anymore, the next 24 hours were set in stone the second you decided to stop into town. He settles up the tab while you excuse yourself to the bathroom, relieving yourself quickly and washing your hands. You rush the water cold once the last of the bubbles swirled down the drain. Using damp hands you pat around your face and neck, the cool a welcoming and unexpectedly arousing sensation on your skin. You can’t remember ever being this worked up before and you’re not sure what you want but it’s definitely whatever it is he’s offering.

You stare in the mirror, meeting your own blown-out pupils as you use the sweat and water from your face to push back the fly-aways wrapping around your face, “This is what you wanted, right?” gripping the sink’s edges till your knuckles turned white and your nails threatened to crack beneath the pressure, “Something real horrowshow.”

It’s almost watching who you’ll become when you step out that door with him, a little preview of the coming moments, slipping off your jacket and tossing it over the sink. You reach back and under your tank top, unhooking your bra with ease, dragging the straps down and yanking it out the deep cut sides of the top and tossing it in the trash. There’s a feeling you’re not gonna need it anymore and so far they’ve all been on the mark. It’s why you’re ignoring one particular one that gnaws at the back of your still rational mind. That too will disappear when you walk out that door. Throwing your jacket over your shoulder, just one more once over in the mirror. Your nipples strain through the shirt, much harder than you had expected, and now impossible not to feel as the soft fabric moved against them. When you step out into the tiny hallway he’s waiting at the end of it. He notices a change but he can’t place it, your own small victory if only because he’ll forget about it in the next minute or two. You’re barely in front of him when his fingers are digging in your too small, too tight front pocket where your keys obviously are, yanking them harshly, scraping just a bit against your thigh.

“Best if I drive,” which is true for so many reasons.

You’ve been drinking. You don’t know where you’re going. It’s dark. But that’s not the whole reason. He doesn’t have to look, so he can spend most of the time with his eyes on you. One hand on the wheel, the other tucking under your shirt to hold your already half-exposed tit. Barely on the road and you were starting to come undone in all-new ways. It’s exhilarating and you’re in that perfect place where fear, whiskey, and fucking meet, it’s a feeling you want to live in as long as possible. He’s the way to do that. You lean forward, fiddling with the radio and pressing yourself further into his hand at the same time before a blaring rock song pounds through the speakers. Verbal foreplay is over, the real conversation will recommence upon completion. His attention turns back to the road which makes it your turn to up the ante.

This grin reminds you of every clown in every horror movie you’ve ever seen but there isn’t much time to think about it, undoing his pants and finding nothing between your hand and his cock. Always prepared though you have no doubt he was never a boy scout. Between him being just a zipper away this whole time and the sinister twist of his lips you’re gushing in your panties and there’s bound to be a dark spot on the light-colored denim of your jeans. It isn’t instinct that thrusts your face into his lap and it isn’t lust that wraps your lips around his impressive length, just the sudden sensation that it’s where you’re  _ supposed _ to be at that moment and you’re not wrong. Your new position puts the whole weight of your tit in his hand, glazzy pressed teasingly into his palm. He takes a sharp left turn, the motion pushing her just enough to slide down the rest of his length until he was buried in her throat. 

“Fucking-” he shouted, groaning low in his throat as his hand tightened against you, “Shit! Who fucked you up so good, baby girl?” the engine revved with the steadily increasing speed, pressing you down just the barest bit more along with the hum at the newest name he’s graced you with. It’s better than your own at this second anyways, “I owe someone a thank you.”

The need for air is what drags you off him, “Me,” your smartass reply is what keeps you off for a mere second.

His laugh melts into another groan as you work yourself up and down, using the console and driver’s side door for leverage. Keeping your nose pressed to the beginning curve of his hip for as long as you can, pulling up for air, and repeat. There’s drool collecting around the base of him, along your chin and lips. The car lurches to a sudden stop right as you’re about to begin the repeat process. The hand on you is suddenly gone, yanking at the emergency brake, he’s abandoned the steering wheel in favor of watching what you’ll do next.

“I ain’t ever met a woman who looks as fucked up gorgeous with a cock in her mouth as you do.” 

It started, the prediction that lead up to where you both were now. In the middle of nothing, parked in front of the unkempt cottage he called home. You stayed in worse for longer, at least you think for longer, that remains to be seen. What is very clear is a new round has started, an opportunity to snatch some higher ground has presented itself, pun very much intended. Pushing off his door, you reached behind you and tugged at the passenger door handle. One foot then the other on the ground, hands pressed into the slightly damp seat, holding his gaze for as long as you dared.

“Then you’re going to be very impressed with the my cum face,” grabbing your hanging tanktop at the stomach and yanking till the fabric gathered between your suddenly exposed tits, “Do you lock your door?” ducking out of the car and kicking the door closed as you made a break for it.

You’re so close too. Shirt tossed on the porch while a hand twists the knob that  _ is  _ turning, when you're pressed up against the door, his now bare chest against your back, dick pressed snuggle against your clothed ass, responsive glazzies pressed against the cold wood until they seemed to hurt in all the right ways. He’s got a tight grip on your hair, yanking your head to the side and running his tongue lewdly along your neck as he unlocked the deadbolt. It’s as haphazard inside as he must be, later you’ll look over it as you gleaned some sort of insight on the man who was manhandling you like he owned you. He probably would by the end of all this.

He yanks at the button of your jeans as he steps you both forward, “ _ Fuck _ ,” the elongated word so familiar but now shakey with need.

He forces down your short zipper while kicking the door closed, latching onto the thick cable of your neck with his teeth. He’s pressing harder and harder, you’re sure he’s about to draw blood, your body quivers against his at the thought. He wrenches away, almost pushing your forward until you fell face-first on the bed. There will be no moving from this position until he decides otherwise if the hand in the small of your back and the other hooking the top of your jeans and panties is enough to go by. You’ve got no problem with that, the smell of stale cigar smoke fills your nose first, it’s easy to get used to. The toe of his boot meets the back of your knees as he’s peeling the clothing downward, you ease them onto the edge of the bed when he stops at your mid-thigh. All his favorite parts are on display and ready for his attention. His fingertip gathers the slick that had leaked along your thighs and coated your lips. Underneath it all you can smell what could only be him, something dangerous and masculine that threatens to roll your eyes back in your head.

“You know what Kafka said?” and you’re sure you do but it’s followed by lewd sucking sound that could only be him cleaning you from his fingers, all you can succeed at doing is shaking your head with a moan, “Follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.”

His fingers dig into the flesh of one cheek, pulling it to the side as far as it seemed he could and putting both your holes on display for him. You’re sure by now your thighs must be just as wet as the rest of you, he’s got no qualms adding to it. A long slow lick from clit to asshole makes you moan and itch to squirm, each pass making it harder and harder not to buck back against him. While punishment seems like a wonderful messel you’re sure if you don’t come soon you’re liable to gut him. It’s like he can read your thoughts, two fingers go to work at your sopping hole sawing in and out suddenly as his thumb pressed against your clit, hypersensitive from all the teasing and lack of touching. It takes everything in you not to fall forward.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, feeling his smile against your cheek.

“Not the plan, hun,” enunciating every word so there would be no further question on the topic.

His tongue joins the fold, giving your puckered whole short, wide licks. You know words are coming from your mouth, punctuated with groans and long hums, but you have no idea what they are. He seems to lick them, his fingers speeding up against you and you’re inches from the finish line. His stiffened tongue breaching past your tight ring is what sends you falling over the edge. He moves his tongue and fingers in synch, keeping a firm even pace as your legs tremble, your scream trembles, and you’ve surpassed gushing into squirting. His tongue vibrates against you with his groan, everything in you moves faster. You’re dizzy, it’s hard to catch your breath, skin flushed and coated in sweat. 

You can’t help the almost childish whine when his tongue disappears, “Let me get a look at that face you’re so proud of,” teeth sinking into the meat of your ass before plunge is tongue back in you as if he’d never stopped.

Your arms are jelly, pushing yourself up with far more difficult than you’ve ever experienced, and turning your head at the perfect-and most awkward- angle to catch eyes so blue they might as well be black at this moment. Either he knew something you didn’t or you just hadn’t known the searing eye contact is what you needed but every nerve ending is a firecracker and you don’t so much uncoil as fucking fly. Forcing your eyes to stay open even as they threatened to close, horning louder than you thought you could before you were silenced by your next topple into the abyss. Only when you were panting, your top half threatening to fall forward again does he pull himself from you, which comes with its own sensation of emptiness punctuated by the sudden slap to your ass. You yelp, falling forward and then flat, legs hanging off the bed between his. Crossing your arms under your head so you can keep it up just enough to attempt to catch your breath.

“Let me get a look at ya, baby girl,” making it seem as if you had rolled over by your own intent but it had been him and his imperceptibly strong arms.

You know how you look, hair plastered to you, coated with your own juices, breasts heaving, rivulets of sweat tracing each curve in such oddly pleasing ways. He’s looming over you at the end of the bed, every strong, lean muscle on display, his cock jutting as proudly as it had on the drive over. A thousand different ways to quell the sensation of emptiness fill your mind but you’re not going to get to choose from any of them, not yet. 

“You’re just all the best parts of sluts, aren’t you?” toeing off his boots and pushing his pants to the ground, “Not wrong about that cum face, either,” grabbing one ankle and yanking off your shoe, then the other, “And so fucking tight,” your legs finally free of the denim prison, her legs easing open of their own accord, “You’re not pussying out on me now, are ya?” your gently parting lips taking a smack that vibrated straight through your clit.

“The idea of the orgasm and the idea of dying is a universal one,” watching his tongue trace from your belly button between your breasts, feeling it move over your neck, “Been a long time since anyone but me’s gotten the job done,” his cock bounces against your pubic bone and lower stomach, “And not even I could make myself realize how close those two are.”

Of all the things you hoped or thought might happen next, you hadn’t expected this one. He’s leaning back, grabbing your knees and pressing them till they met your shoulder, there’s no vulnerability or fear anymore. Just need for too many things, none of them quite clean your mind.  _ Him _ . It’s the easiest one. You don’t even realize you’ve been making little mewls and hums of excitement until his eyes are on yours again. The soft skin of his cock rubs between your drenched lips and along hair-trigger nerves. Head cocked to the side, eyes ever so slightly squinted, as if you were something he’d never seen before. 

Because he hasn’t. Your eager and wanting, not in that greedy way he’d come to find of the women he picked up that could provide some semblance of what he wanted, chasing yours. You’re chasing him, he doesn’t even have to move, managing to create a small rocking movement with the curve of your spine. If he stayed just like that he’s positive you’d ride that to the finish line best you could. Hobbled but not on a slab yet. It’s the first time he’s felt the urge, he knows it’s one part possession but it’s three parts something else and all the blood he could use to figure that out is rubbing against your needy pussy. Which he’s also positive is a far better use of it.

Then it happened, he grabbed your throat, forefinger stroking the curve of your jaw while his thumb and the other three applied pressure. He can feel your neck vibrate in his hold as you continued to make those pretty little noises, ever so slowly he lines himself up with you, his straining head nudges against your desperate hole, you gasp and he just can’t help himself. He slams into you, full force, swallowing down your scream with his mouth, hand squeezing your neck just right. Possession was the state of being controlled and you’d never felt anything like it. Each thrust is almost too deep, battering against her cervix and brushing along her g-spot, his bony pelvis stimulating your clit with each downward impalement. He’s got your bottom lip between your teeth, sucking it into his mouth in the same obscene way he had your juices on his fingers. It isn’t the overwhelming pleasure that sends her flying this time, it’s the act of it all, the simple thrill of knowing his lips against hers isn’t part of his normal performance and from here on out it’s all unscripted.

“No fucking way!” looking at you like you’d raised the dead, you can manage a sort of nod and half-hum, “Fuck, fuck,” his hand disappears pressing into the mattress next to your head to pound harder and faster.

You don’t stand a chance against the sudden burst of oxygen that sends you flying all while making you dizzy. Your walls flutter around him in an unfamiliar way, clamping down on him tighter than you’ve ever experienced. It makes you feel too full, which just lifts you higher than you were already soaring. Your eyes roll back in your head,  _ cum for me _ a mantra he’s created for just this moment. over and over in time with his snapping hips, for a moment everything seems to stop, then go dark, and immediately pull back into focus. Each sensation almost brand new. You cum hard. Harder than before or you ever imagined your body was capable of. Spasming under him, around him, nails breaking the flesh of his biceps till red tinted the crescents, you swear it last hours even if in this reality it’s only a moment or two. He doesn’t stop, keeping your legs on his shoulders as he leans back on his knees, yanking your ass off the bed. His mouth is moving but you can’t make out what he’s saying over the blood pounding in your ears and futile attempts to catch your own breath. You don’t need surround sound to know what’s happening, he twitches against the vice grip your cunt as on him and you can feel him painting your insides white. 

He doesn’t pull out, you’re not sure if it’s because he can’t or if he just doesn’t too. Either way you’re not complaining, it gives your aftershocks something to grip in a way that feels so good without being overwhelming or reinvigorating. He drops your legs and they fall limp to each side, he drops forward his elbow on the bed to hold his weight. He uses the other to skim up your side, plucking at your nipple just to feel you clench around his soft dick and hiss in the back of your throat. 

“You ain’t going nowhere, baby girl,” the tip of his tongue tracing the curve of her jaw, memorizing the taste here too.

“I was already here."

**Author's Note:**

> creeching[screaming]  
> filly[screw around]  
> firegold[alcohol]  
> horrowshow[good,excellent,etc.]  
> glazzy[nipple]  
> cable[veins, arteries, blood vessels]  
> messel[thought,fancy]  
> horning[crying out]


End file.
